


Done IV

by Nika_Bo



Series: DONE [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:43:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15833055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nika_Bo/pseuds/Nika_Bo
Summary: Niall,please come to LA and spend some time with me.We will do whatever we want. Whatever YOU want.– H.Final part in DONE series! Multichapter fic.





	Done IV

**Author's Note:**

> So,  
> took me a while, sorry!  
> Got momentarily distracted and had to write a tiny vignette about Muskoka (feel free to check out IF! you wanna go there).
> 
> Here we go, first chapter. There will be several! The boys getting up to all kinds of cute and smutty little things!  
> Not in this one though.  
> Contains some nudity, cuddly and drunk Harry, Niall developing a bit of possessiveness.
> 
> For dramatic reasons I'll take/have taken liberties in this fic like creating a January heat wave in LA,  
> move date and location of Jeff Azoffs b-day party, ignore the entire St. Barth's Hendall situation,  
> grouped GUCCI shirt from various RTW seasons together etc.  
> Nothing major!
> 
> Location is Hazza's former Oak Pass Rd. house.  
> Feel free to go find interior pics on various property sites for a clearer visual.
> 
> P.S. Feel free to spot the NH album reference(s)  
> "GBFs" - my own invention. Acronym commonly used as  
> Gay Best Friend (think Stanford Blatch in SATC)  
> but here referring to Ginger Beer Floats!
> 
> Niall's internal thoughts in ITALICS!
> 
> Constructive feedback is always appreciated!  
> Enjoy!  
> Be kind!  
> You're wonderful!
> 
> ***

_Niall,_

_please come to LA and spend some time with me._

_We will do whatever we want. Whatever YOU want._

_– H._

***

Niall lands in LA on Wednesday the 20th of January. He has no idea that in 9 days time the world will come crashing down on him and Harry. Styles has offered to pick him up from LAX.

“What, and become cannonfodder for the paps? No way!”

So Niall has rented a car and drives through the winding roads of Beverly Hills until he reaches the gate of Harry’s house. A short call to his bandmate’s cell and the doors open. By the time he’s parked in front of the building, Harry is already standing outside in his typical uniform of skinny jeans and half-buttoned printed shirt, messy mane held back with Ray-Bans, grinning like a fool and Niall thinks that he has never looked more handsome.

He knows that it’s uncool but he jumps out of the car, runs over and throws himself into Harry’s arms so hard that it knocks Styles backwards, stumbling a few steps, before regaining balance and then he’s holding Niall for that small eternity and Horan feels grounded and levitated at the same time.

“I’ve missed you!”

“Missed you too, bud. Come on in, I’ve dabbled in food making!”

Niall follows Harry into the house: a stunning structure of open rooms with hardwood floors, massive windows, walkway, balconies, lush garden, guest house and saltwater pool. It feels like a luxury tree house and adds to the vibe of reckless adventure permeating their reunion.

They sit down in a tiny breakfast nook off the kitchen, windows on three sides with views over the hills, feasting on baked potatoes, steak and salad, a bottle of ice-cold beer each rounding things up to perfect.

While eating they catch up. Niall reports about the skiing holiday and that the deal on the house in the Hollywood Hills has finally gone through.

“So we’ll be neighbours soon. Wonderful!” Harry is genuinely delighted. “You’re going to love LA. The weather! The dreary grey of Britain and Ireland cannot compete with constant sunshine.”

“I see that.” Styles has picked up even more of that gorgeous golden tan since they’ve parted in mid-December. “So, have you heard from the others?”

“Payno called on Boxing Day.”

“Yeah, I spoke with him too. He’s busy writing stuff. What about you? Any epic melodies you’d like to play me?”

“Not really. I have a few bits and pieces, some lyrics but nothing definite yet. I’m trying to make myself get bored with it all to find fresh energy and inspiration for approaching the whole thing.”

“Sounds like a good plan. I’m collecting material too at this point. Playing around with the old 6-string.”

“Did you bring it?”

“Are the Irish catholic?”

“Good. We can jam.”

They get Niall’s luggage and guitar from his rental and spend the rest of the day playing together. Niall, who has taught Harry his first chords, is impressed. Styles has been making excellent progress with his guitar skills.

“You’ll be writing your first album with just this baby if you continue improving like this.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll see.”

“Any idea what you want it to be like? The sound?”

“You know me. I’ve listened to more 60ies and 70ies records than anything else. I guess it’ll be headed in a rock direction. Above all I want to be honest with this. Write about my truth, things that are relevant to me, have happened!”

There is a nostalgic note of sadness in Harry’s voice and a shadow of grief flies across his face. Niall treads carefully, knowing he enters dangerous territory. “It’s been almost a year, since…”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder when he’s going to release his first single? I thought maybe for his birthday last week.”

Harry stays silent, biting his lip, uncomfortable.

“Change of topic?”

“Yes, please.” Relieved Styles takes a large swig of another beer.

“Okay. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did it take you so long to react to my… um, proposition? I mean I said that I would do you back in 2014 and then there was that conversation in Kansas and I think I was pretty explicit after Corden’s show.”

“That was only seven weeks ago! You really think that’s a long time to contemplate whether or not it’s a good idea to hook up with one of your closest and best mates?”

Niall blushes. “No, not when you put it like that. I’m sorry, I guess I got a bit carried away as soon as I had made my decision, feeling impatient and maybe panic set in with our break approaching.”

“You don’t need to panic about anything and you certainly shouldn’t rush into something like this. To be honest I’ve waited for your sake, not mine. I wanted to give you the chance to change your mind. Or… I don’t know, become more certain. I’ve done this before but you are completely new to this. To both, hooking up with a bandmate AND sleeping with a man!

And I’ll be damned if I pull you into something you’re not ready for or put any kind of pressure on you. That’s why I wrote in my note that we’ll do whatever YOU want! You’re calling the shots here, Niall! If you change your mind at any point, no problem. Just tell me. If you want to stop whatever we’re doing at any moment, no problem. Just tell me, please. Okay?”

Harry looks at Niall and, unexpectedly, there is an vulnerable fragility about him and Niall thinks that maybe Harry is nervous too. “Okay. I feel a bit stupid now. But you know me, always Mr Impatient.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Nialls. You can stay as long as you want and we’ll take this as slow as you need. And if nothing happens here then that is totally fine too.”

“And if something does happen but we fuck it up?”

“I hope to God we don’t. I hope that after whatever takes place here between us we’ll still be friends. Best friends. But if we’ll fuck it up, we’ll do it epically!”

“Burnt bridges and shit?”

“No, never that. But maybe secret song lyrics about regrets and one day many moons later we’ll meet up and apologise to each other. And then there will be another plaque on a pub wall after that!”

They look at each other, both aware that things could get complicated – Louis and Zayn being two fine examples for it – and yet knowing that they want to explore this anyway.

Niall reaches for his bottle of beer. “To friendship.”

Harry clinks their bottles together. “To friendship. And love.”

The rest of the evening is spent with music and beer, laughter and _Remember when…?_ until it’s completely dark outside and Niall has to stifle a yawn. “It’s getting late.”

“Yup.”

“Do you want to show me where I’m sleeping?”

“Where do you want to sleep?”

“I have options?”

“Niall, there are 4 bedrooms, including mine. All with ensuites and garden views, beds dressed in finest Frette sheets. Pick one.”

“What if I say yours?”

“Then I’ll warn you that I still talk in my sleep, am cuddle-prone and get up at the crack of dawn to swim 50 laps in my pool.”

“In January?”

“Nothing apart from a punch to the face wakes you up like that in the morning.”

“Mmhh, maybe my own room then.”

“Okay, follow me.”

***

It’s the middle of the night when Niall wakes up in his bedroom and after visiting the bathroom tosses and turns for a good 30 minutes before realising he can’t fall back to sleep. He gets up once more to find his way upstairs to the kitchen for a warm milk but changes his mind when he passes Harry’s bedroom on the way to the top floor. The door to Styles’ room is ajar and Niall decides to head in. Maybe his friend is awake too?

But Harry is asleep, his prone form clearly visible in the moonlight streaming in through floor to ceiling windows: lying on his belly, tattooed arm thrust beneath the pillow, the other curled up by his face, fingers twitching slightly in his sleep. The dark mess of curls spreads over the pillow and falls down over an old band shirt stating KISS tour stops. It’s half-ridden up, exposing a stretch of tanned back above the logoed waistband of black Calvin’s that contrast starkly with the white sheet tangled around Harry’s long legs.

Niall stands by the side of the bed for a long moment watching before he makes up his mind and climbs in next to Styles. Lying on his side, he stares at Harry’s face: an intriguing mix of shadows and angled lines, a wreath of dense lashes and full, half-opened lips. Satiating himself with his friend’s beauty he doesn’t realise when he eventually falls asleep.

***

It’s early, the sunshine milky and soft in the room when Niall wakes up. He blinks at the ceiling while Harry is like a vine stuck to his right side, head burrowed into the curve of his neck. Niall smiles, he has missed cuddly Harry and he could definitely get used to this. Adjusting his position to get more comfortable has Harry snuggle even closer, mumbling _Swim later!_ and throwing an arm possessively over Niall’s chest. He reaches for Harry’s wrist and closes his left hand around it before his eyes flicker shut again.

***

When he wakes up the second time Harry is gone and he can hear water splashing outside. By the time he steps outside, showered and dressed, Harry is still doing laps in the pool, ploughing through the water with smooth freestyle strokes.

Niall walks over, stands by the edge of the pool and observes Harry coming towards him. Styles turns with a perfectly executed underwater roll and surfacing a few meters along switches into a powerful butterfly mode. It takes him only seconds to reach the far side of the pool and without stopping he puts his hands on the ledge and pulls himself out of the water in one swift move.

It’s like something out of a Davidoff perfume ad and Niall is conscious of not controlling his facial expression. Harry is standing there, turned away from him, undoing his man bun and shaking out his hair _Wow, it’s really long, wet like that!_ and water is cascading and running down, glistening, dripping off his perfectly tanned, defined and completely naked body.

Horan forgets how to breathe. Naked Harry is something he hasn’t come across in quite a while, certainly not in such an alluring setting and the difference between the kid running around the X-Factor house in the buff and this carved to perfection, tattooed statue putting Michelangelo’s David to shame is something else entirely.

He is glad when Harry reaches for a towel on a bench and wraps it around his lean hips, giving Niall time to regain his composure, before Styles turns towards the house and spots him. “Maidin mhaith, sleepyhead. Did you rest well?”

“I did, thank you. Excellent bedding you have.”

“And a free cuddly toy, too!”

“My favourite.”

Harry smiles and walks over to him. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good. Give me five to throw on some clothes. I know a great little breakfast café down by the ocean. Great views, killer coffee and fantastic granolas.”

“You sound like a true West Coaster.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with replacing a full English with some muesli every now and then.”

***

They drive down towards Malibu in Harry’s white Mercedes convertible and even though the vintage SL looks out of place parked between the battered pick-ups and VW camper vans of the surfers Niall agrees that the coffee at the little ramshackle café is excellent, the granola delicious and the view unparalleled.

They walk along the beach afterwards, observing the surfers, and discussing if Liam or Louis would stand a chance to manage one of the impressive breakers rolling in. The winter swell is strong, a steady wind coming in and the stretch of beach pleasantly empty apart from a few dog walkers and surf enthusiasts.

Finding a forgotten football they throw a few passes between them until the cold sand beneath their bare feet and the constant wind makes it too uncomfortable to continue. They head back to the car, glad for the hoodies they’ve brought and on the way back Harry stops at a tiny hot dog stall by the road to fetch them two cups of terribly weak but hot tea.

Heading into Beverly Hills next Harry parks the car in a no parking zone right in front of GUCCI on Rodeo Drive.

“Two seconds”, he tells Niall. “Just collecting something. Watch out for traffic wardens, please.”

Niall nods and two minute later almost nods off suddenly tired from food, the beach and time difference with Mullingar. When he next opens his eyes fifteen minutes have passed and a young woman in uniform is writing down Harry’s licence plate number on her pad outside.

“Shit!” Niall straightens up to get out of the car just as Harry approaches, laden with GUCCI bags.

Niall can’t hear them but observes the exchange with the traffic warden curiously. There is quite a lot of vehemence on the woman’s side, her eyebrows drawn tight, her mouth stern and quite a lot of flirtatious charm on Harry’s. He gives a veritable tour de force of nervous lip biting, head ducking, lashy glances, shy half-smirks and guilty puppy dog expressions before he finally dishes out his absolute killer double-dimple smile. It seems to work because Styles leans over and kisses the woman on the cheek.

“In a country of million–dollar lawsuits for sexual harassment he treads a very fine line”, Niall thinks as the woman crumbles up the ticket between her manicured fingers and giggles like a schoolgirl. Horan is not really surprised but awed once more at Harry’s ability to make everyone fall in love with him a little bit and Liam’s warning echoes somewhere in his head.

“How do you do it?” he asks once they are on their way again.

“What do you mean?”

“The warden, how did you get her to throw away the ticket? Did you bribe her with future world tour tickets, your debut album or first born…?”

“Which is pretty much the same thing to me right now!” Harry interjects.

“So what was it?”

Harry just smirks, shakes his head but stays silent and Niall knows he’ll never tell him.

They end up in a massive food hall in Koreatown, strolling around the stalls laden with exotic produce: fruits, veggies, meats, dried fish and aromatic herbs, and shop for groceries, blissfully unpertubed amidst the bustling and ignorant of ex-boybanders Asian market community.

***

It’s 2.30pm when they arrive back at the house, stuffing the perishable food in the fridge and then sit down on barstools at the pantry table to indulge in a late lunch of Korean take-away delicacies featuring fried mandu, spicy kimchi and tteokbokki, japchae and chicken bulgogi and the cutest little dasik selection for afternoon tea.

“These will blow your mind”, Harry says. “Forget about cucumber sandwiches and strawberry-cream scones for tea.”

“I’m not sure I will be able to have tea today.” Niall pushes his plate away, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I feel close to exploding but damn that was amazing food! Now, what’s in those carrier bags of yours that could have cost you a complaint for sexual harassment of a state employee if your charm attack hadn’t worked?!”

“You want to see?” Harry’s eyes twinkle, delighted like a child with its new Paw Patrol toy. Slightly giddy with his fashion choices he jumps off the bar stool, pulls the stiff bags over and lifts out several flat boxes. “Go on, open them!”

Niall obliges and lifting the lids reveals shirt after fabulous shirt with beautiful patterns, stripes or floral motifs. There are black and white tribals, pale pink hibiscus and palm leaves on sky blue silk, peacocks fighting for dominance on a moss green bed of leaves. Another is in palest gold with butterflies, vipers and various garden flowers on it. The next a mix of black and white florals on a vibrant red underground. The last one in particular catches Niall’s attention. It’s black with large coral-red and smaller electric blue flowers all over and a large square of cream white overlay with a tiger and ferns on the back panel.

“Oh, they are all beautiful but this one is fucking gorgeous, H! You should wear it for a special occasion!”

“You like it? It’s my favourite too. Pretty bold though.”

“Since when do you shy away from bold choices? It’s your middle name these days and may I remind you that you once wore a pink polka dot shirt at the Apple Music Festival and totally rocked it. So don’t give me timid, you sartorial satan!”

Harry laughs while Niall pulls the shirt fully out of its box. “Come here.” Harry obliges and is slightly startled when Niall unzips his hoodie for him. “Take it off, henley too!”

Styles gets a strange look on his face at Horan’s authority but follows the order and strips nonetheless while Niall undoes the buttons on the GUCCI then holds it up for Harry to turn and shrug into it. “Now turn again!”

Harry turns back towards him, standing right in front of Niall’s chair, arms by his sides, his hands brushing against Niall’s thighs and slowly, meticulously Horan starts closing one button after the next from the top down.

His fingers fumble a little as he feels the soft material beneath them, the heat from Harry’s skin. The combo is nice so he lets his fingertips rest there for a moment before slowly moving them down, smoothing over the silky fabric and Harry’s firm body beneath it, to close the next button.

Horan takes his time with it, eyes on the shirt, focused on the task and when he finally looks up Harry is standing very still before him yet at the same time, almost imperceptibly, oscillating with… something. His eyes are ablaze, irises blown huge.

It’s very quiet in the house and Niall isn’t sure if either of them is actually breathing.

He wills his hands to stay steady and reaches for the top button again and this time slowly undoes it. Then the next. And the next and the one after that so the shirt is half-unbuttoned, gaping wide over Harry’s chest as is his custom.

By now Harry is visibly trembling in front of him and Niall can see the frantic pulse in the tiny hollow at the base of his neck. A great calm comes over him, reciprocal to the near escalation of Styles.

He can feel it.

So very carefully he moves his right hand and lightly brushes the tips of his middle and ring finger from the underside of Harry’s jaw down into that dent and further along the breast bone all the way to the beginning of the butterfly tattoo.

He contemplates the drawing for a long moment, running his index along the ink and looking up finds Harry’s head tilted backwards, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with breaths that are on the verge of becoming something else.

It is a stunning sight and Niall is overwhelmed by the fact that he is here, with Harry, so close and waiting, waiting to be touched!

Ducking his head and bridging the small distance between them Horan leans forward and kisses Harry’s throat. He opens his mouth and sucking lightly on the soft skin let’s the tip of his tongue make contact with it and Harry gasps.

Niall’s mouth wanders along the warm skin, over to the side below the ear where a pulse is hammering and tiny hairs, unimaginably soft, tickle his lips. He sweeps his tongue down in a broad lick to a collarbone and brushes the silk away from Harry’s shoulder before sinking his teeth into the cord of muscle there.

The sound Harry makes goes straight to his cock, runs like an electric jolt through his entire body and his first impulse is to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders, pinning his bandmate’s arms down to the sides and start devouring every inch of golden skin he can reach.

But he doesn’t. _We have time, all the time in the world! I’m not going anywhere, Nialls!_

And he decides to indulge. Harry is certainly worth it, gorgeously warm and smooth, a slight salty tinge to his skin _Pool water? Sweat? Sea spray?_ and he tastes like honey-caramel. Niall nudges his nose to the numerals above his clavicle, then nuzzles against the neck once more.

His teeth scraping against flushed skin elicit another small moan from Styles and Niall momentarily loses restraint and sucking hungrily at Harry’s neck, creates a love bite that fills him with illogical pride at having marked his territory. He brushes his fingertips over the blossoming bruise _Mine, you’re mine!_ before capturing the very same spot in another hard suck.

“Aahh!” Harry’s voice is the perfect mix of agonised arousal and Niall thinks that if he hears Styles making another sound just like that he’ll come in his jeans, his cock already throbbing, straining against tight denim.

Actively trying to reign himself in, keep it slow, he proceeds to fill the space between the tattooed swallows with tiny kisses and makes his way to the other side of the neck. He hooks two fingers into the collar and pulls the shirt away, exposing Des’ birth year, the GUCCI finally slipping down in a silky hiss of fabric, bundling and coming to rest around Harry’s waist.

Once more Horan is stunned by their situation: Harry, half naked, right in front of him, his skin beneath Niall’s fingers, lips. There! He scoots to the edge of his stool while gripping Harry’s waist and pulling him forward, closer, traps Styles between his thighs, his groin pushed against Harry’s stomach.

He nibbles at the underside of Harry’s jaw, presses open-mothed kisses to his jugular, then flicks the tip of his tongue against the ear lobe. “I want to kiss every inch of your gorgeous body!” whispers it, voice raw and rakes his fingernails over the front of Harry’s lean torso.

“Niall!” Harry hisses, his wrists confined by the shirt, struggling inside the silk fabric while Niall continues to whisper against his ear, hands roaming across his body.

“I want to peel your clothes off of you, strip you naked, lay you down on the floor and just look at you before I start exploring with my mouth. Decide if I want to start at your wrist or an ankle or the bottom of the left laurel leaf, the one that begins just above your…”

“FUCK!” Harry’s frustration and his arousal are obvious when Niall is interrupted by the annoying sound of a phone ring. It’s not Niall’s and it’s not the usual tone he’s heard from Harry’s phone before but Styles curses again and reluctantly takes a step backwards, somehow wriggling back into his shirt while pulling his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’m sorry but I need to take this call, it’s really important!” His eyes are big, apologetic. “Please don’t lose that train of thought. I will be back in a minute…. Hello, Jeffrey!”

He steps away towards the living room area and Niall can practically feel the vacuum he’s leaving behind. He watches Harry sitting down on the couch, the conversation indistinct, Harry’s voice calm but intense.

Niall decides to have another sip of CASS to cool down, equally annoyed and relieved by the phone call’s momentarily reprieve. He has no chance of keeping his cool around Harry if things continue to suddenly landslide like this. It’s as if his heart and his body can’t agree how to proceed. One moment he takes his time, enjoys slow, sensual exploration and easing his way into this whole situation with Styles and the next he plunges into sudden madness, hungry desire getting the better of him.

In the split second before the phone call he was ready to slump off the chair to his knees, tear Harry’s jeans and pants _If he even wears any?_ away with him in one go and swallow his cock as far down as his inexperienced throat would allow.

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the cool glass of the beer bottle, breathing in and out to get his frantic pulse and the throbbing in his jeans back to normal. Harry is talking and it seems to be a conversation that will last longer that a minute.

Niall gets up and clears away their dishes and the empty take-out containers. Wipes down the pantry table, then washes his hands at the kitchen island sink. Harry looks over at him and mouthes _Sorry!_ Niall makes a gesture _It’s okay, take your time!_ and busies himself with refolding the GUCCI shirts, packing them up into their boxes and stacking them back into the carrier bags.

By the time he’s finished Harry is still deep in conversation so Niall decides to head over to the adjacent entertainment room. He passes behind Harry’s back, now standing and listening intently to the voice on the phone while absentmindedly pushing a hanging chair back and forth and staring out the window. He sees Niall’s reflexion in the glass, turns and Niall gestures that he’ll be in the next room watching tv.

Settling on the comfy sectional Niall takes all of two minutes to find a sport channel with golfing highlights and all of another seven minutes to fall asleep, head lolling backwards against the headrest.

***

When he wakes up the golfing highlights have been replaced by a baseball documentary and his throat feels dry, a crust of dried saliva in the corner of his mouth. The tv sound has been turned off and Harry’s head is in his lap, still dressed in that half-open GUCCI shirt, long legs in his favourite black skinnies stretched out along the couch, reading a dog-eared paperback of Didion’s White Album. “Hey Irish, welcome back amongst the living.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Fourty minutes maybe?”

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright. I only finished my call fifteen minutes ago. Sorry that it took so long. And that I had to answer it in the first place but I really don’t want Jeff Azoff to be any more pissed off than he already is with me and all the negotiations. Oh, almost forgot, we’re invited to his birthday party next week.”

“Uh, okay.” Niall is slightly confused at Harry’s relaxed matter-of-fact tone. Back in the kitchen things have felt distinctly more charged between them. But then again that was a phone call and fourty minute nap ago and Styles said he will take his cues from Niall and not instigate anything.

“How are the deals coming along?”

“Seems we can finalise the contracts next week.”

“So you’re really severing ties with Modest?”

“I want a fresh start.”

“Fair enough.” Niall’s voice is almost under control but Harry drops his book on his tummy and looks up at him, green eyes alert. “It has nothing to do with you and me. Or 1D for that matter.”

“I know… I know. It just feels so… final.”

“Niall, you know that Modest would never let me do the things I want to do with my music. I needed a clean slate. This was the only way. We’re on hiatus but when the time comes we’ll all sit down together with Simon and talk how things can work out for the reunion but for now I have to do my own thing. I NEED to do my own thing! But that doesn’t mean severing any ties with you, or the others. Especially not you!”

For emphasis Harry turns his face sideways and lifting Niall’s t-shirt places a long kiss against his stomach, then two smaller pecks and finally blows a raspberry until Horan giggles.

“There. Much better.”

Styles picks up his book again with the left hand and snakes his right arm around Niall’s back, his fingertips tickling along Niall’s spine. “Now turn that tv volume up. They’re showing a rerun of the 45th Super Bowl next. Packers versus Steelers. It’s going to be an epic cheesefest!”

Niall grabs the remote with his left hand and switches the sound back on before dropping it next to him on the couch. He looks at the screen for a moment, the baseball documentary still running, then down at Harry, engrossed in his book.

He can still feel Harry’s palm, warm and reassuring against his spine. And although it is a bother every time Harry needs to turn a page his right hand never leaves the small of Niall’s back, fingers fluttering ever so often against his skin.

Niall smiles, absentmindedly caressing Harry’s hair and Styles snuggles into his hand like a cat being stroked and if he could he’d probably purr. Harry loves being touched, has always been the most tactile member of 1D. Touch is his way of communication, of establishing a rapport and of apologising, of seducing and connecting and, of course, relaxing.

Niall can’t count the number of times Harry has fallen asleep on him or the others while being petted or cuddled and sure enough Styles is out for the count, paperback abandoned on the floor when he looks down at him a good five minutes later.

It gives Niall the chance to gawk unashamedly again, register every flutter of long eyelashes, each twitch of a finger – long, slender, surprisingly bony – listen to each deep exhale of air through slightly open petal-pink lips, to marvel at the vexing change of angles and planes in Harry’s chiseled face: sometimes masculine, sometimes feminine.

Always stunning, seductive, mesmerising!

He sits there, Harry’s head a welcome weight on his stomach and once more the sensation of time expanding into infinite. The fact that they have freedom, time to explore, let things develop between them is liberating and he realises that he truly doesn’t want to rush things. He wants to indulge, revel in this energy between them, the pauses, the space that gets filled with tension and possibilities. Those moments before something happens, accumulating with the strength of a cresting wave just before it breaks.

It’s powerful. Momentuous. Exhilarating.

***

He ponders whether he should wake Harry up when the Super Bowl rerun begins, knowing how much his friend adores the Peckers but at the same time feeling selfish and reluctant, aware that as soon as Styles wakes up he will sit up straight, eyes glued to the screen, jump up and cheer for every complete pass, first and touchdown and Niall won’t be able to tangle his fingers in that silky mess of hair any longer, brush a stray curl behind an ear while outlining the arch of the brow with his thumb or run a fingertip softly across the perfectly shaped cupid’s bow, that mouth such a lush invitation to all kinds of sensual things and Harry asleep, relaxed and beautiful and all his to observe, touch and indulge in!

In the end affection triumphs over egoism and Niall doesn’t regret waking Harry who is radiantly smiling and exited like a puppy next to him _Go Pack, go!_ running to the kitchen during ad breaks to microwave cinnamon popcorn, serve round after round of spiked GBF shots and cook three-minute pesto capellini for dinner, informing Niall that the Peckers have come as far as the divisional playoffs this season only to lose against the Cardinals five days ago.

The Super Bowl win of 2011 is a small victory and once the game is finished a sleepy and drunk yet hyped on sugar and ice cream Styles happily rides piggyback on Horan who fears for both their lives and intact spines on the way down the stairs towards Harry’s bedroom.

Dropping his bandmate on his mattress by asking him to let go is an attempt to argue with a frenzied toddler.

“NO!” Harry clings to Niall like an oversized monkey to a tree, nuzzling against the nape of his neck, long legs wrapped around Niall’s waist, ankles crossed in front of each other.

“Come on, Harry, let go of me.”

“No-oh.” Niall lets go of Harry’s thighs and tries to pry his friend’s feet apart. Those large, weirdly flexy-toed hobbit feet, arguably the only part of Harry that is not downright perfect but Harry is strong and Niall gives up soon enough to try his luck with Harry’s hands around his neck.

To no avail.

 _Bloody little fucker!_ “Harold. Edward. Styles.”

“NO. Not my name!”

“Hazza!”

“No, no, noooo! Want to cuddle. You sssmell so goooood.” Harry burrows even closer to Niall’s back.

“H!!” Niall is at his wits end, cursing the last two rounds of their bourbon-infused GBFs, definitely two too many for young Harold. His drinking stamina never the best to begin with and definitely not up with Horan’s.

“Styles, yer feckin’ eejit, get off me right now!!!!!” He tries once more to unlock the clasp of Harry’s legs but Styles just cackles at Niall’s outbreak of Irish slang and squeezes tighter around his waist. Under other circumstances Horan would probably start moaning by now, feeling and seeing those strong thigh muscles contract and hold him in place.

“Okay, time to break out the big guns!” Niall reaches for Harry’s feet and starts tickling them: soles, ankles, instep, arches, whatever he can reach. Harry starts to wiggle and giggle like a five-year old but instead of releasing Niall he simply moves himself around to Niall’s front in an amazing stunt causing the Irish to sway around trying to maintain counterbalance, failing and falling forward onto the bed, crushing Harry beneath him.

Styles still doesn’t let go.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice is sleepy and velvety dark, his long hair a brunette cascade on white sheets and his face – shimmering gaze and pouty lips – is right in front of Niall, eyes blinking slowly, slightly unfocussed and a lazy smile spreading over Styles’ entire face like the sun coming up over a hill and illuminating a vale beyond. “Hey, Nialler!”

 _Fucking hell, you are so goddamn gorgeous_! “Hey, Haz.”

“Feel like a tree.”

 _Please let go before I do something inappropriate to you!_ “That’s because you’re holding on to me like a little monkey.”

“Smell good.” Harry presses his face to the crook of Niall’s neck and inhales.

 _Fuck, Harry!_ “Thank you.”

“Makesss me feel safe.” Styles drops his head back down on the mattress, arms and legs still wrapped around Horan’s neck and waist.

 _Anything for you._ “That’s good, H.”

“Like home.” He smiles, that slow heartbreakingly wonderful stretch of lips, content, almost unaware.

 _Jesus!_ “Okay.”

“Don’t wanna let go.”

 _Damnit, Styles, what are you doing to me?_ “But how are you gonna sleep?”

“Like thisss. You on top o’ me.”

 _Oh God, give me strength!_ “We’re still dressed.”

“Yeah. Doesssn’t matter.”

“What about your beautiful new GUCCI shirt?”

“Oh.” The drunk happiness in Harry’s face is dulled by a serious frown, his brows drawing tight, a vertical line appearing between them. And Niall sees his way in.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty new shirt, would you?”

“Noooo oohhh, it’s ssssoo pretty.”

 _Vain little Gucci babe._ “Do you want me to take it off?”

“You put it on me… Earlier.”

 _Don’t remind me._ “I did.”

“That was so… nice!” Harry exhales the last word on a breath and Niall has to remind himself that his friend is drunk and he will not exploit him but all he wants to do in that moment is to crush his lips against Harry’s mouth, one corner curling upwards, and kiss the boy stupid until he’s as drunk on pheromones and the unknown flavours of Harry’s tongue as Styles is currently on bourbon.

“It was. So it might be nice if I take it off for you too, no?”

“Yeah.”

 _Here we go. Finally!_ “Okay, but you have to let go of me, Harry. Otherwise I can’t do it.”

“Yeah, okay...” Harry’s arms drop from around Niall’s neck like two dead cobras and when Niall tries to straighten up, Harry’s legs slide off his waist too, feet thudding against the floor. Styles lies gangly and spread-eagled on the bed before him, eyes fluttering open and shut, body heavy and limp while Niall bends over him to deal with the shirt buttons. Once more.

_Fuck that fucking bourbon!!!_

“Take my shirt off of me… All my clothes, Niall… You want to do things to me… What things? I want you to do things to me… Badly… And I want to do things to you, too… So many things… Nice and slow and sweet…”

 _Fucking fuck. Fuck!_ Niall tries to use his annoyance to shield himself from the increasing sensuality of this moment. Harry’s like a lanky ragdoll in his arms, sleepy and cute, being peeled out of his shirt, hair falling over cheek bones and shoulders, tangling around pink lips and eyes.

Wide, so green. Voice warm, slow.

“I like your hands on me… Your hands on my body. Slow… Slow hands… Sweet hands… Niall, sweet and slow… Take your time. Not going anywhere...”

 _Please stop saying these things!_ Horan wants to close his eyes to the beauty and temptation of tawny, tattoed skin against white sheets. Muscled arms and lean torso, rippled abs and laurel garlands taut over the groin as he deals with the buttons of Harry’s jeans.

“Take time… Take me…”

_Please wear underwear today, Styles. Please wear underwear today, Styles. Please wear…           Oh FUCK YOU, Styles!_

“Anywhere… Home…”

Niall collapses in front of the bed, Harry’s jeans pulled down to his ankles _Never gonna Dance again_ and Styles is once more naked and perfect before him.

***


End file.
